Chapter 58: Let’s Go Vent.

Chapter 58: Chapter 58: Let’s Go Vent.

Victor and his father stayed in the hospital a while more, comforting Mrs Kelly who had began to panic so much she lost her appetite.

In the evening, they headed home, talking the whole walk.

It was nothing much, just easy conversations aboit what happened in the hospital, and Victor’s father warning him sternly to be careful.

They approached the apartment building.

Smelly Joe saw them from a distance, and came rushing out of his cardboard shelter.

"Mr Language, Victor. You’re both okay. Thank god." He looked between them, genuine relief washing over his face. "I heard things. From... upstairs."

"What kind of things?" Victor asked.

Smelly Joe just shook his head, something heavy behind his eyes. "People from the Cleavage gang came. Urh... I think you should go see it for yourself."

Victor and his father exchanged a glance and broke into a run.

The apartment door hung open, splintered off one hinge. Inside, the place had been torn apart.

Their one couch lay gutted, cushions slashed open, stuffing scattered across the floor. The kitchen shelves had been swept clean, groceries smashed and strewn everywhere, glass crunching underfoot.

It seemed like the intruders had come through with something blunt, a bat or a pipe, and taken their time about it.

Victor’s father let out a sharp gasp, hand going to his mouth.

There was Spray-painted across the far wall, jagged red letters still dripping slightly:

NEXT TIME WE OPEN YOUR CHEST.

Then the symbol of a woman’s open cleavage. Underneath.

His father’s breathing turned shallow, panic creeping into his voice. "Victor, we need to call someone, we need to call the poli—"

"I’ll handle it." Victor’s voice came out flat, and cold.

His father wanted to say something, but Victor was already stepping up.

"You’re not sleeping here tonight."

He pulled out his Ranker’s bank card, and pressed it into his father’s hands. "I need you to get a hotel room. Order whatever you want, don’t worry about the cost. I’ll take care of the rest."

"Victor, what are you—"

"Everything will be fixed by tomorrow. I promise."

He was already moving, back down the stairs and out the door before his father could stop him.

Smelly Joe was still standing outside when Victor reached him.

"Tell me. I know you that you know where they are," Victor said.

Smelly Joe’s face tightened. He shook his head. "I can’t do that to you, kid."

"Smelly Joe."

"Listen to me." Smelly Joe grabbed his arm, voice low and urgent. "You don’t know what you’re walking into. That gang’s run by a retired C-Ranker. Goes by Cleaver. Rumors have it that he earned that name splitting men clean in half with that blade of his, back in his raiding days.

Every nomie on this side of the city knows better than to cross him. And he’s got real D-Rankers under him, and a small army of normal gang members on top of that." He shook his head again. "Going there alone, is not bravery. That’s suicide."

Victor held his gaze, steady, unmoved.

Smelly Joe exhaled slowly, defeated. "...Fine. Just — know what you’re walking into first. Promise me that much."

"I promise."

Joe gave him the address.

Victor moved.

However, unlike Smelly Joe thought, Victor was not planning to there alone.

He was smarter than that.

—

Victor rang the doorbell again and again. But there was no answer.

He pushed the door open himself.

The smell hit him first, stale alcohol thick enough to catch in his throat.

The apartment sat in near total darkness, blinds drawn tight against the neighborhood security light outside.

Bottles scattered across every surface, take out containers piling up untouched on the counter.

"Mira?" He called.

Nothing.

Yes, this was her apartment.

Victor kept looking, and finally, he found her slumped against a chair in the far corner, and underneath the alcohol, his nose caught something else.

It was familiar, sharp, chemical, wrong.

Dreamer.

"Shit."

Victor crossed the room fast, crouching beside her. "Mira. Hey. Mira—"

Her eyes cracked open, unfocused, glassy. She turned her head weakly and vomited, barely missing him.

It seems like she took it ours ago. Damn I should have come check on her a long time.

"Okay. Okay, let’s get you up."

She tried to push him off, weak hands shoving against his chest. "Leave me alone. Leave me alone—"

He didn’t listen, pulling her upright and half-carrying her toward the bathroom.

"Leave me alone... leave me the fuck alone. Let me dream in peace. Let me... You don’t even know me. Let drown in..."

He held her hair back as her stomach emptied itself again over the toilet sink.

He ran the water cold, splashing it against her neck, her face, trying to pull her back toward something resembling lucidity.

Victor sighed. Paul was right about her.

No one suffered what had happened more than Mira. And clearly, she was battling with dealing with it, badly.

"I lost them," she mumbled, voice cracking. "I could’ve known. I should’ve known. I was so obsessed with... getting stronger, being better, that I never even saw what was right in front of me. Hana’s feelings. I never saw it." Her voice broke entirely.

"...And now she’s gone. She caused all of it, and I still—" A choked sob cut her off. "And Tobi. That whole time, it was a lie. From the start. Hana sent him my way because she knew my type... I actually thought I was going to be a bride."

She retched again, and Victor held her through it, saying nothing, just staying.

When it finally passed, she turned, collapsing into him, and cried.

He didn’t pull away. He just let her.

After a while, it finally slowed to quiet sniffles. She wiped her eyes roughly with the back of her hand and pulled away, putting intentional distance between them.

"Why did you come?"

Victor opened his mouth.

"Stop. Don’t give me that bullshit about checking in on me." Her voice was raw, scraped thin. "We’re not that close."

"I still wanted to."

"Just tell me the real reason."

He studied her for a second. "It’s obvious you’ve got a lot going on. Figured maybe you’d want to let some of it out."

She let out a short, humorless laugh. "I’d kill for a Gate to show up right now. I need something to punch on the face."

"It’s not a Gate." A faint smile pulled at the corner of Victor’s mouth. "But... it should work just as well."

Mira’s eyes sharpened slightly, flickering back to life behind her exhaustion.

"...Oh?"

(Author’s note: please leave comments and stuff. Also, I have not forgotten about the entire world. This story carries both. So, look forward to it.)